《Powder Blue》


 Part 1 of 2

    Another day at the office.


    C¡¯mon Nick, you can make it another two hours, it¡¯ll be fine.


    God, the day is going by slowly. I guess no one needs to go to the bank today. Lunch was pretty good, at least. Payday this week.


    ¡°Hey, Nick, I have to run to the restroom. Be back in a few minutes.¡± Julia, (the only other worker scheduled until closing) chirped from the lobby as she made her way around the corner.


    ¡°Alright, have fun.¡± Why did I say that? Before I had a chance to question my words, I can see someone walking in.


    I honestly can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but the man entering the building has a full, vaudevillian magician¡¯s costume on. Probably just finishing up from some kid¡¯s birthday party.


    ¡°Hi there. How can I help you, sir?¡± I said


    ¡°I came here today for a very special occasion.¡± His voice sounded deeper than I expected for someone with a slim build. ¡°This,¡± he revealed a white box, perfectly wrapped with a red ribbon. ¡°Is for you.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not my birthday, but thank you.¡± I said. I looked the gift over; it was twice the size of a tissue box, but there wasn¡¯t much too it (aside from that perfect ribbon) not very hefty either.


    ¡°What¡¯s in it?¡± I asked the stranger.


    ¡°You¡¯ll just have to find out for yourself.¡± He spoke with a smile.


    Just then, I turned as I heard Julia coming out from around the corner.


    ¡°Hey Nick, did you remember to- Oh! What¡¯s this?¡± She looked, wide eyed and opened mouthed, at the present sitting on the counter.


    ¡°Oh this? Yeah, it¡¯s a gift from mister...¡± I was about to turn back and ask the man what his name was, but he was gone. Not gone in the sense that he walked out; he had all but disappeared.


    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion?¡± Julia said, not seeming to care about where the package came from.


    ¡°No clue. I¡¯m opening it.¡± and with that, I gently tugged the loose end of the ribbon; silently unwinding. I removed the lid to find (an honestly lackluster) assortment of writing supplies.


    ¡°Looks like there¡¯s a note underneath the lid, Nick.¡± Julia said. With both of my hands still holding the box top, I flipped it over to see what she was talking about. There a was a postcard-sized, blue note that read:


    Contents:


    1 - Pen (gold)


    1 - Book (blank)


    1 - Envelope (postage not necessary)


    ¡°It just says what¡¯s in the box. Kinda strange.¡± I told her as she started taking the various items out and setting them on the counter. Between you and me, I hate it when people touch my gifts without asking first. My brother did it constantly and it¡¯s the reason we don¡¯t talk nowadays.


    I picked up the book and started flipping through it. Yup, that¡¯s definitely blank. Nothing special, just a book full of stark white pages.


    Julia was looking at the pen. ¡°You think this could be real gold?¡± she wondered aloud. ¡°I mean, all of this stuff looks like something you could get anywhere; better than dollar store quality, I¡¯ll give it that.¡± she continued.


    My thoughts started to go back to the magic man that dropped in (and out) unexpectedly. Maybe he¡¯s trying to get people back to simpler times, writing out their thoughts or something? Well, in any case, this made the night memorable.


    ***


    Eventually 6:00pm rolled around. Julia and I closed up and parted ways.


    All the way home felt the urge to start writing, which hasn¡¯t happened in well over a year -not even a birthday card. I think I must be some kind of anomaly amongst writers, because I have to fill a blank page. Everyone goes on about how they can¡¯t get past that daunting pale screen or that empty piece of parchment. Not me! I can go on and on about any old thought that pops into my head.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I guess tonight has me thinking of my mother. Thinking of her a lot actually.


    That¡¯s partly why I hate being so bored. You see it¡¯s not the boredom itself that gets under my skin; it¡¯s the train of thought that is constantly stopping at the grand central station of pain. My mother left too soon. Parents always do. They say no one should have to bury a kid. I say no loved one should have to be buried.


    That¡¯s a kind of hurt you never lose. It¡¯s the phantom pain of a memory, sealed into the deepest part of you.


    Before I knew it, I realized I had just written all of this down in the book¡¯s first page.


    What? I don¡¯t remember even opening the gift box -or even parking the car in my garage for that matter. Unease finds its place at the nape of my neck. I look around and see the old, familiar surroundings of my home. I¡¯m seated at my table with pen in hand and an open book in front of me -now filled with my words.


    Maybe I should go to bed. I don¡¯t feel tired though. I wonder if I just put myself in such a rut that my mind just blacked out? I¡¯m sure that happens to plenty of people.


    Man, that reminds me of the time (the only time) that I fainted as a kid. I saw my best friend, Dillan, break his arm while we were both riding our bikes home.


    As he connected with the unforgiving ground, there wasn¡¯t much noise (apart from the bike¡¯s metallic frame crashing into the sidewalk), but god almighty, did he take a hit! Part of his elbow had shot right through his skin. I¡¯ll never forget seeing that. He must¡¯ve been in shock, because neither of us said a single word as we walked our bikes the rest of the way home. As I walked in the door, my mother asked why I looked so pale and I swear the only words that came out of my mouth were, ¡°Dill- He- I think I¡¯m gonna-¡± and down like lead I went.


    When I came to- Wait a second.


    I strained to pull my head up from the 6x8 inch space that my head occupied. It felt as if I had to pull a particularly difficult sweater off of my head. Maybe more like taking your head out of water; but imagine if that water were hardening cement. I immediately felt out of place; equilibrium failing me. It wasn¡¯t that I¡¯d written out my entire series of thoughts again, it wasn¡¯t that I struggled to pull my head upright, no.


    It was daylight.


    Moreover, I was inside my favorite restaurant. The place I go for lunch during the workweek. The servers all know me by name.


    ¡°Nick,¡±


    See what I mean?!


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have to get back to work? It¡¯s been nearly two hours. Oh, I can get you a bag for the-¡± the server paused, looking at my untouched food. ¡°I¡¯ll be back with a bag for the road. Hang tight.¡± and just like that, they left.


    Um, is this really happening right now? I need a mirror. I head to the restroom. From everything I¡¯ve ever read on dreams, I shouldn¡¯t be able to see myself in the reflection.


    Sure enough, that¡¯s the same old Nick. The same old Nick wearing the same old clothes he had on yesterday.


    Suddenly, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m doing so great.


    So if I spaced out on the way home that¡¯s one thing, but this? This is far from comfortable. What do I do now? Okay, you¡¯re going to pick up your stuff and head to work, then apologize like crazy for being late; maybe ask Julia what in the world happened this morning. Maybe not that last part. Pep talk over; time to go.


    Back at the bank, I tried not to hold myself too much like someone who doesn¡¯t care about what time they stroll back in from their lunch break, but also not too much like someone that exactly knew that they¡¯d be back late form their lunch break.


    I see Julia and my other coworkers are busy with clients (thank god.) I just might make it behind the counter without someone noticing.


    ¡°Hey, Nick!¡±


    Shit!


    ¡°What are you coming in for today? Thought you needed some PTO?¡± Marcell, the branch manager, caught me dead in my tracks. I could feel my face flush.


    ¡°I uh- um- well- I¡¯m sorry I must have made a mistake.¡± I do not do well under pressure.


    ¡°Hey, man, don¡¯t worry about it. We all need some time to process our emotions. Go on back home and take as much time as you need. We¡¯ll manage just fine, okay?¡± Marcell reassured me and then returned to his office.


    Process my emotions? What the hell did I say this morning? Still, I can¡¯t remember the last time I took a self-care day. I should at least try to enjoy it.


    Back home, I wonder if I can reread what I¡¯ve written so far without slipping into another blackout? I made my way to the notebook sitting on my table. This time I thought ahead and set an alarm for one hour. Picking up the book and flipping through it, I was shocked to find another surprise: over half of the pages had been filled in already.


    I can¡¯t believe it. I only recall putting a fraction of this down. There was the bit about Dillan and the one about my mother, but there were pages upon pages about my upbringing, my relationships, my school, and even more on the loss of my mother. It was as if my entire life was summarized for me to peer into physically for the first time. It was all so overwhelming, I was brought to tears.


    The sound of my alarm notifying one hour had passed shook me from my lachrymose headspace. I decided to take an actual lunch break and put a little space between me and the mysterious present.


    With lunch over I find myself drifting back to yesterday.


    For all the surrealism regarding the magic man and his curious attire, I really appreciate this notebook. All mysticism aside, I haven¡¯t had a gift so nice; a gift so me since my mother bought me a typewriter for my 13th birthday. I was so elated that she saw how much I enjoyed spending my time reading mountains of books and she really thought I could put my name amongst those authors, the teachers of life¡¯s most important lessons.


    ¡°Little Nick.¡± a faint voice sounded out of nowhere. I shot out of my chair like a rocket, eyes darting back and forth. Nothing.


    There was no mistaking any of it -that was her.


    The voice of my mother.

 Part 2 of 2

    That voice¡­


    Immediately I feel my body temperature rise; all of my arm hairs stand on end.


    After another survey of my house (just to be sure I was alone), my heartbeat slowed back to normal levels. My gaze moves to the book -the source of every strange happening in my life. Let¡¯s not go back down that rabbithole. My hand reluctantly closes the cover as I back away from my table.


    How in the world do I deal with this? My situation isn¡¯t exactly believable.


    There has to be a way for me to reach my gifter. Whatever is going on has definitely put me on edge. I think I need to rest before I can make any sort of sound decision.


    ***


    Enough time passes without sleep that I start to think the only way past this problem is through.


    I find myself once again staring down a seemingly innocuous journal.


    Just start writing with intent, Nick, you can do it.


    I struggle this time around to write about my thoughts, looking up every few seconds to see if anything¡¯s changed. Maybe that¡¯s not how this works.


    Okay, maybe it¡¯s like dreaming, you can¡¯t force yourself to fall asleep or it¡¯ll take you longer. Just relax and don¡¯t overthink it. Let¡¯s see¡­


    I set the pen to paper once again. This time, I think of the vaudevillian magician that gave me these blackout inducing items. Who was he, why did he pick me in particular? It¡¯s not like my life has taken me places that dazzle the senses. I haven¡¯t had any wild and crazy weekends in college either, just kept my head down and did the work; in fact, has anything remarkable ever happened at all?


    ¡°Well of course it has.¡± Said a vaguely familiar voice. I snapped to attention. Sure enough, it was none other than the very man I was looking for. Dressed the same way as I remembered him.


    ¡°I trust you have questions?¡± The Magician wore a smile that was anything but sinister -moderately unsettling nonetheless, but not sinister.


    ¡°I-I uh, yes, um I do.¡± I take in my surroundings. The scenery was comfortable, but foreign. We sat across one another at a small table, right in the center of the room. It was a study, a small library of sorts. Each of the four walls adorned with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A variety of colorful books lined those shelves, packed end to end. As I absorbed the layout, I had to do a double-take. There was no door. Four walls, stuffed with books. No door. Natural lighting and a temperate atmosphere, but no door. Not even a window! You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°Something the matter?¡± He asked me.


    ¡°What? Oh, sorry, I uh- I have several questions actually.¡± All of my gawking short circuited my brain to mouth connection.


    ¡°It would seem you only really have one real question burning in your chest,¡± He said ¡°About the envelope.¡± his smile lessened a bit at that.


    ¡°Yes, I was wondering, what is it for? At first, I thought it¡¯d be nice to pay a bill without paying for an extra stamp, but these things,¡± I gestured to the book and envelope with pen in hand, ¡°aren¡¯t normal are they? I mean, I¡¯ve never been one to lose large chunks of time. Definitely not one to hear voices.


    ¡°Nick, I trust that you have heard it said, ¡®don¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth?¡¯ the less detailed I get about what has been given you, the better chance you have of making it work for you. I will, however, grant you this much: that envelope you have there, when you¡¯re ready, write the name. There is no need for an address. Simply write the name and drop it in any postage slot.¡±


    ¡°Y-You¡¯re serious?¡± I stammered.


    ¡°I no longer deal in half-truths. The whimsy of my work is sufficient enough to sate that craving.¡± The honest smile playing out again on his face.


    ¡°So that¡¯s it, I write my letter and sign the name of the recipient?¡± I said. But my attendant did not answer me. He hid his teeth while retaining his jovial mystique. I look down at the envelope in my hands, the smooth, powder blue of it making me question how anyone could think it was special in any sort of way.


    ¡°Suppose I-¡± there was no need to continue. I cut myself short as I looked back up only to realize I was, once again, alone. Alone and returned to my home. To my table. To my sink full of yesterday¡¯s dishes. My many questions were not answered, but he was right, I really only needed one of them answered.


    I removed a few pieces of paper from my book to be the contents of my letter.


    After what seemed like two hours (this time without blackouts) I sealed the envelope.


    ***


    Three days pass.


    The mail arrives. There¡¯s a powder blue letter. No stamp, no return address, just the name ¡°Little Nick¡± written in that unmistakable style.


    The contents of this letter are from one heart full of love to another that still needs filling. Because of this, I have decided to keep the contents to myself.


    Though, I think I ought to share this much with you:


    ¡°On the outside, that little envelope may not seem like anything special.


    Nick, my bright ray of sunshine; what you see in that envelope is the same way you never thought yourself special. I want you to understand that just like this letter, your stories can parse the very fibers of time to touch someone. You will change a life. You will change the world. One story at a time.¡±


    Ever since I read those words, I haven¡¯t stopped writing. Each day I write a little more, here and there.


    My story may be one sprinkled with magic, but until I started writing again, I was just like you. Maybe you don¡¯t need a visit from a secret somebody to start putting pen to paper. That same awe-inspiring storytelling is in you somewhere, all you need to do is give yourself permission.


    So please, never stop yourself from sharing your stories, your magic, with the world.


    -Nick