GOOD NOTE
written by
Ray Wil
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PUBLISHED BY:
Good Note
flash fiction
Copyright © 2014 by Ray Wil
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This piece of flash fiction is a work of fiction. Any part of this material that resembles persons alive or dead, any events, or locations is purely coincidental. The characters have been derived copiously from the fathomless imagination of the author and are entirely fictitious.
General Reading Material
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I had been distracted peering out the window when he came into the bus. A group of elderly Ti-Ch’ing folks were in the park across the street in their daily repertoire. Some even held bright metal swords in slow swinging fight-like motion. I thought it funny and fascinating that elderly people should be holding large sharp objects in a workout routine in the edge of winter. Although sunny, the cold air pushed from their mouths like happy chimneys. Meanwhile the hurried man quickly sat down beside me, a black gym bag slumped between his legs. A thick dark winter coat hung loosely over his shoulder as he looked about the bus catching his breath. I glanced at my phone noting the time of 1:58 pm, then changed my playlist as I always did after passing the large park.
The man removed his toque and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, then removed it, only to put it on again. I sometimes did that, wanting to remove the itchy fabric but still feeling the cold. A new crisp and colorful hundred-dollar bill trickled out of the same pocket unbeknownst to him and settled onto my lap. I glanced at the currency then looked up again to the owner who’s attention was pulled to the front of the bus. No one else seemed to notice the money lying flat and beautiful on my leg. I had already spent the note before my hand actually touched it. Slowly I placed my hand over the surface folding it under my palm so almost no trace was detectable. I was suddenly a circumstantial crook but I didn’t care. It had been more than six months since I lost my job for the sake of principle. Or was it blind stupidity. I wasn’t sure.
The man seemed entangled in some sort of distraction wringing his hands together. We locked eyes for a split second before he removed his hat once more only to pull it back over his low cut brown scalp. I gripped the hundred dollars tighter, bringing my hand closer to my coat pocket while an uneasy nervousness rippled through my stomach.
“Hey, how you doin’.” He said.
“Alright.” I answered. “Cold isn’t it.” I added.
A small enough conversation to deflect any suspicion away from me. He was a large man and oozed a rough exterior. Although my brave opportunistic desperation didn’t care. Brave because the last thing I stole as a boy was a toy car when I was eight years old at the local Zellers. Not including of course the office pens and mugs. Opportunistic because the hundred dollars was much needed.
A police car trotted by the bus that had now pulled over to the side of the road to allow clear passage. The cruiser blared it’s loud siren echoing into the winter air as it continued past us.
“I wonder what’s goin’ on now.” He said almost sarcastically not necessarily to me in particular.
“Beats me.” I said.
I ran my other hand over my face feeling the stubble. There was no need to shave, seeing I was no longer in an office where formal attire and attended grooming was required. The scrupulous bill had slowly made its way into my jacket pocket and a light exhale escaped my mouth. The man regarded me while I busied myself on my smart-phone contemplating my dwindling minutes.
“Hard day at work?” He asked.
“Yah, something like that.” I answered.
“My father always said nothing like a hard day’s work. Work hard and the world is yours. Ain’t gonna get where you wanna go if you lazy.”
Out of obligation, I continued in the dialogue. “What did your father do?”
“That old bastard was an idiot. Kicked the shit outta me until I was eighteen and I had to hit him with a phone book before takin’ off.”
A few people turned curiously towards him, their interest peeked. Feeling the attention from several eyes he leaned over to me grinning. “A lotta people work hard and where does that get em. I say you gotta work smart. That’s how you make a lotta money.”
All my credit cards were over drawn. My trip downtown was more of a desperation attempt to borrow some much needed cash from an old colleague. To my disappointment, I was unsuccessful.
I leaned over, returning the favor. “Sometimes, all someone wants to be is just working, if you know what I mean.”
“Yea, sure I know what you mean. Fall in line. Be like everybody else. Do the regular nine-to-five and pay your taxes only to have the rug pulled out from under you.”
I paused the song playing on my phone and plucked an earpiece from my lobe. “Yea it’s Sad, I know just what you’re talkin’ about. When a difficult patch hits you, and you’re jobless, you start seeing things differently.”
Two young teenagers with their backs to us turned in between texting and their own animated conversations. One of them, a young man, was about to say something but the girl displayed a displeased face, shaking her head. The scruffy man beside me grinned and chuckled, more to himself than to me.
“That’s why these CEO’s and Execs can get away with paying themselves so damn much and leaving the people doing the hard work on minimum wage.” He continued.
I had nothing to add. My advertising job paid me much more than minimum wage. My former job that is. My unemployment was stretching to cover bills. I was becoming desperate with an appetite of worry growing inside my stomach. Now, while I sat beside the hundred dollar dropper, a hint of guilt was growing inside me. I had failed to remain silent or even keep my opinion and emotion to myself. I pulled out the money from my pocket.
“Here, you dropped this.” I said almost in a whisper.
He glanced down at the bill, his face amused, yet showing no hint of surprise or upset.
“Don’t worry about it. Keep it.” He grinned.
I was about the insist on returning the money when he stood up and zipped open the gym bag before reaching inside only to put a block of tender into my hand. The crisp wrapped unfolded bills looked as if they had just been removed from a city mint. My eyes widened while my heart jumped. I quickly shoved the money into my pocked before anyone could see it.
“I’ll catch you later.” He said nonchalantly before turning and scurrying off the bus.
A dumfounded gasp sat on my face until the sound of sirens jarred my attention. The bus had pulled to the side of the road again while a parade of cop cars stormed towards us only to screech to a slushy, clumsy halt moments after passing. I turned along with a group of people straining to peer out the windows. I could see my generous friend with the black gym back running desperately along the wet street attempting to move in and out of cars. Several officers were now on foot giving chase. The man in a panic tried to jump over the hood of a car but a cloud of police officers had moved in to tackle him off the hood of a BMW at gunpoint. I squeezed the thick brick of money inside my pocket and the hot feeling of sweat trickled under my arm. Without counting, but by sheer touch I knew it was enough to make a monumental difference in my immediate situation. The loan, it seemed from my colleague wasn’t needed. The indifferent universe had provided another way. Without interest.
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About the author
Above all else I’m a creative almost to a fault, finding myself distracted by my daily musings and daydreams. This can range from the possibility of aliens coming through my window or just the usual Sasquatch mingling with the neighborhood raccoons.
The writing process has always been a fascination to me as much as anything an artist puts his time into. But, we all are creatives, some more so than others. I have a great love of all things art, from films, which I have my hands in to music, which I also have my hands in. A father of two kids, girl and boy I’m amazed at the things available to them that I didn’t have as a kid. As a child the first things I read on my own were comic books which surprisingly ushered in my love for books.
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/raystorm101
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ray.wil
Blogger: https://grandiosity-grandiocity.blogspot.ca/
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