SOON Online Magazine

Stories

Special Issue

by Leticia Casavella

"Can I sit down here?," she asked, immediately doing so. He just moved to the side, focusing on the paragraph, aware of the fact that right after his arrival his new editor would work on a very detailed questionnaire on the headlines of the day, searching for flaws or merit. "You know, that's the only place to sit in the whole couch, isn't it curious? Don't you think so? Personally, I think coincidences aren't real: it's actually destiny showing us things. Nothing happens by accident, nowadays I really believe in that; we have to respect divine providence and will...." He glanced at her, enclosing the little things with his general perspective: in her thirties, blonde hair with a fringe, anxious green eyes, average build. Not astonishing, but somebody who could be interesting - if he had time for that. The pressure had become unbearable over the past few months, with the merge of the tabloid and the newspaper. The oldest editors felt tremendously threatened, knowing that the owner of the newspaper couldn't do much to overcome the innovating ideas of the Investor - besides being too tired for that. Lately he just spent half of the day staring through the windows and mumbling how familiar that landscape seemed to him, which anyway didn't do much to show his originality - and probably he hadn't had a good new idea in years. What was needed for that? Divine inspiration? A muse? Luck? Coincidence? Open eyes? Culture? Which of these things was lacking now? ... "and isn't it incredible how these things happen? I saw, with my very eyes, the car falling while I just looked at it with my bags beside me. If it had been a second before... " He nodded vaguely, thinking about these people who just kept talking no matter how much attention was devoted to them, while he panicked inside. It was something he had learned as a child, the silent and imperceptible despair - like when his father came home, drunk, and everybody knew that it took only a sudden move or an inappropriate comment, and all the family hell would be burning. Early he had learned to look down and make very slow moves, creating the illusion that his tranquility was unshakeable That had brought advantages, surely, almost everything in life brought the two sides of the coin: he saw things that nobody else did, was extremely attentive, nothing got away from his sight. He gazed at his own hands, trembling a little, the only sign his mind was crazily searching for an answer, images, sounds, colors, anything that gave him a single Idea, an interesting thought, something that could draw his readers' attention and prove that was where he belonged, instead of the trainee they had brought with them. He had had ten days to think, his deadline was today, Aug 12th. The day circled in his calendar. The day he would need all the help he could get..       "they also told me at that time, Alice, you're so unlucky, touch wood, right, this Word isn't welcome, but there were more than 500 people in that park, I was the only one injured. Then it happened again: my first husband was the doctor who saw me that night. You would think...." Mentally he lived all the dialog he had had with the new boss: gently but firmly, he had made his position very clear: he didn't mean to harm anyone, but certainly everybody understood an unknown team couldn't be kept, as competent as they could be, he emphasized, unless I'm sure we are working for the same results. Unfortunately, the company policy right now is based on the latest tendencies, yatta, yatta, and at the same time he heard those sentences again, some corner in his imagination got stuck every time a mental file was open, like the computer screens when too many windows were open. He used to be so witty, so creative, what had happened with all the big articles he had written in his notebook, only waiting for the moment when they would be transformed and printed, in honor to Gutenberg? Ideas, my God, he wasn't religious but if he could get to the building with one single Idea he would become a pilgrim, go to Santiago to take candles, many candles, how many were necessary to pay for his life and honor, for the proof that he had won, overcome his own intellectual misery, turned the environment into something real....       "At the hospital I started shouting, saying that if they didn't take me to a different place I was going to deliver my baby on the sidewalk, and can you believe it, the following day the headlines were all about the crazy nurse who killed all the babies at night.... I knew it...." His was the next stop, and so it seemed to happen in his mind: the moment when he entered the building, defeated instead of triumphant, was frozen: knowing his being fired meant going back to being an ink setter, knowing that would be the end of his career - who would hire a journalist who was incapable of thinking about a single original idea for the special issue? He remembered his intern times, as a reporter, hunting for news, even helping the cameramen, how could his experience turn into a giant hole? A clue, my God, I could turn it into gold, but I need a hint      ."and of course, there was the time when I was wealthy, with the lottery ticket I found in the pocket of the coat bought for two bucks at the used clothes store, before sending it to wash I poked inside the pockets and the numbers are craved in my mind..... my second husband, by the way, was the owner of the clothes store....." He remembered the feeble image of the old man at the window, he wouldn't have the chance of becoming a loser... He didn't know what the next step would be but felt he was so close, as if a Lion was standing right in front of him and all he could see was a golden rug... what hurt was to lose his position to the young trainee, the apprentice, the skinny guy who had just arrived. It was so humiliating, he had been like that, the messy hair and the confident smile, the factory worker who knows he's the powerful one, feeling like a king walking among his peasants on the street..... he had struggled so much, trying to lose the revolted naivety who was his main treat at the time, and now he'd lose everything for Inexperience, capital letters. Feeling sorry for himself, stood up, preceded by the blonde woman.      " another coincidence, that's also my stop. See, maybe there's something we should know about each other, but we're going to find it out, nothing happens by accident.... bye.." His hands were now shaking. He still had tem minutes, decided to spare them on the coffee shop and recover some of the normal temperature of his body, which felt icy under the coat. He saw people entering the building, and looking up almost thought he saw the old man waving at him. The building was old, the Investor had said as soon as things were organized, and by "things" one understood knowing which furniture to throw away or to take with him, as well as the people using the furniture, he would rent the new building across the street, all shiny and glassy, at least five floors up, much more impressive and adequate. Finally he walked in, to find himself in the conference room with the table filled with ashtrays: he used to feel so comfortable there... The sign over the old man's chair remained, though a little worn out: Don't close your eyes to the opportunities. He sighed and sat down, officially giving up at that moment; keeping his eyes open had meant nothing, and now he hoped the trainee had had the same destiny and in the end they would see his experience was more valuable. The meeting started with the four of them: the apprentice and him, the old man and the investor. His boss looked at him as if apologizing for becoming so powerless and dispensable. The thunder voice of the Investor, he could never get used to calling him by name, echoed around the room: very well, I'd like to hear from you which opportunities, and pointed at the sentence hanging in front of him, trying to be polite, he was somebody who would be admired if circumstances had been different, very diplomatic, which opportunities were found by you today. I'd like to start, if nobody minds, the apprentice stated, frantically. To be true I came all the way thinking about what could be done, since I'm not as experienced as none of you and obviously a lot more anxious, and I really came with this worried mind because after all, I chose to work with the written word, not wanting to surrender. Then the most extraordinary thing happened: I looked at the calendar and realized tomorrow was Friday the 13th, and making a dramatic pause, while savoring his moment, kept on, soon he is going to use four syllable words which he has learned in College and I'll get sick, he thought, looking at the guy's eagerness. The Investor just looked back at both, he could feel, in doubt of whether to feel proud of his prodigal son or sorry for the pitiful countenance of the other one. And immediately I remembered that yesterday, on my way here, there was this woman who couldn't shut up, and I wasn't even listening to her 'cos I was thinking of ideas, but it came to my mind that she told many stories about her life and how it was linked by coincidences, believed that the Friday the 13th was an important day in her life. Of course I became more desperate as I remembered that, thinking how difficult would be to find her again, and there you have, to mock my chances or whatever, our special issue works in the newsstand on the corner, how prosaic is that? Of course I didn't have time to check all her details, but the ones I did prove the woman is not just a single edition but maybe a lot of them! I even was audacious enough as to bring her here, and at the approval of the Investor he beckoned at somebody in the other room and a woman walked into the room, looking at the journalist and smiling. Hi, you again, see how interesting... I took my morning train with him, look at that - Said happily, while the old man seemed more desolate than ever. He left slowly; by his desk, he stopped for a moment to take his favorite pen, the lighter with the tabloid's symbol and a pad. Thinking again, left the pen and the pad and climbed the stairs down, lighting a cigarette. When he got to the sidewalk, took a deep breath of the polluted air and disappeared after some corners. The headlines for the special issue, which became historical by reaching a Record number of sales, brought under the big bold letters "Destiny can be by your side" a black and white picture of a woman in her thirties, with blonde hair, a fringe, anxious eyes, who though not astonishing, could be interesting if looked at for a second time.

© 2002 Leticia Casavella

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