Here is my rewrite of the Patrick story. Red Shoes will be posted on the blog after this one.
The Forgettable Life of Patrick Sullivan
Quinn Hay
Some people are born to be great, their colors bright and brazen. I call them the “Remarkables”. Those people that you can’t help but notice, no matter how much you want to ignore them. Heads turn when they enter a room and you can’t help but secretly wish they knew you and would turn their head, smile and wave and make their way over to you sitting in the corner as all eyes turn and look at you with envy. These are the people who are star athletes and actors, politicians and leaders, people who have big dreams and the means to achieve them.
Then there are the “Fleas” of the world. Fleas wreak havoc in a house, you can’t help but notice their pinprick bites and they way they itch. When you see them jumping around, almost giddily, you are repulsed. The worst part? They multiply. They always multiply. Just when you think you got rid of them…BAM…another hundred pop up. “Fleas” are the people you notice, but you wish you didn’t. You know the type. Loud. Stupid. Ugly. They are stupid enough to believe that they are just the same as everyone else. Unfortunately, they don’t notice that other people stare at them in fascination, hoping they will do something unbelievably stupid so they will have something to tell their friends and family over the dinner table and laugh at. They live a life of bliss, thinking they are the center of attention, the life of the party. You know what they say, ignorance is bliss.
Then there are the people like me, The “Forgettables”. These are the people that are smart enough to realize they have no hope, no future beyond the mundane and know they can do nothing about it. They walk around in colors of grey, a smoky mist you think see out of the corner of your eye, but when you look again it has completely faded into the background. I think I would rather be anything but a “Forgettable”.
But forgettable is what I am. I am quite possibly even more invisible than most “Forgettables”, if that is possible. I once met an old fortune-teller who claimed she could see people’s auras. She would walk the streets, stopping people and telling them the color of their supposed auras and then try to convince them into paying her for a full fortune reading. She passed me over, not surprisingly, and noticed me several minutes later when she accidentally bumped into me. She twirled around, with all of her bright scarves and jewelry and grabbed my arms, a look of shock on her face.
“My, my young man,” she said in Eastern European accent I’m almost positive was fake; “I have never seen anything like this before. You have absolutely no aura, completely invisible. Let me read your fortune,”
I shrugged and shook my head no, attempting to twist out of her grasp, she only held on to me tighter. I could smell alcohol on her breath and see thick lines of makeup in the creases of her face. She breathed deeply and relaxed her grip “Alright, I will do it for free, then”
I stared at her for a moment and then rolled my eyes, relenting. She loosened her grip and pulled on my hands lifting them, palm up, to her face. She stared at them for what seemed like an eternity and then dropped them suddenly, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
“It’s not good, not good at all” she shook her head stiffly and her jewelry rang like bells.
“What is it?” I asked, I didn’t want to admit it, but she had piqued my interest.
“I will say no more,” she said dramatically fluttering her hand over her heart before turning and walking briskly down the street.
I am pretty sure she was a damn “Flea”.
Then, there was Susan. Susan was also a forgettable. She had a boring job as a waitress in the little dingy café I ate breakfast at every day of the week. I would sit at the same table at the same time every morning. I would order the same breakfast: Coffee, black, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain. She would scribble my order down, even though I am sure she had it memorized and smile slightly at me before rushing off to put in my order.
There was nothing spectacular at all about Susan. She was thin in the awkward way teenage girls are before hitting puberty, all knees and elbows. Though I am sure she was well into her 20’s, maybe even hitting her early thirties. She had thin, dull, mousey hair and pale oatmeal colored skin. If it weren’t for her eyes I would have never noticed her. They were a bright green, full of intelligence and happiness. It baffled me that she could be happy in her mundane life while I felt so bored and unfulfilled in my life, but her eyes gave me hope. And that beautiful little smile. She was forgettable, to everyone but me. I loved her with my whole being.
This is why I, Patrick Sullivan, completely unmemorable in every way, chose today to do something remarkable. Today, on a dreary, rainy Monday morning I was going to tell Susan the waitress (what was her last name?) that I loved her and have loved her since the first day I walked into this café four years ago and looked into those emerald eyes. Today was the first day of the rest of my life. Cliché, I know, but that is how I truly felt.
On the way to the café I ducked into a florist to buy some flowers for Susan. I browsed over the various flowers and colors and breathed in the thick heavy scent of roses, lilacs, and tulips. I contemplated a bouquet of bright red roses. No, roses didn’t fit Susan, they were loud and dramatic. Tulips, too bright. Finally I picked daisies. Daisies were Susan, simple and plain, yet hopeful. I purchased the flowers and the clerk wrapped them in pale pink paper. I stopped into a convenience store and bought a lottery ticket, this was my lucky day.
I entered the café, checked for Susan. She stood at the counter her back to the door. One long leg crossed delicately behind the other and she self-consciously pulled at the short hem of her dull gray uniform. I smiled and took my usual seat in the back corner.
She checked her watch then glanced back at my usual corner. She smiled, tucked a long strand of her hair back into her ponytail and made her way back to my table. I could feel my heart racing; my hands started sweating as I watched her weave through the tables.
Something was wrong; she didn’t smile as she usually did. She hung her head low and stared at her feet. She stood at my table but did not pull out her notepad from the pocket on her apron. Instead, she stared at the pink paper wrapped around the flowers.
“The usual today?” she said without emotion.
“Uh, yeah.” I was thrown off, not expecting this reaction.
She didn’t even scribble it down as usual, but walked away without looking at me or smiling. She walked back to the counter and yelled to the cook “The usual.”
A few minutes later she dropped my plate on the table unceremoniously, and slid my steaming cup of coffee next to my plate without once looking at me or flashing me that unforgettable smile. I wasn’t expecting this but I knew that I absolutely could not live without those brilliant green eyes and that smile. I dropped my napkin on my plate, grabbed the flowers and left my breakfast untouched.
I walked out of the café without looking back once. It was still raining and the pink paper was turning into a soggy mess. A man walked past me, balding with his hands shoved into his pockets. Judging by the way he walked I would say he was a Forgettable. I needed to get rid of these damn flowers; they were like a poison reminding me of my failures. I shoved the flowers into the chest of the balding man. He looked up at me, surprised and grabbed the bouquet reflexively. I let go of the flowers and continued walking, feeling free of my burden.
***
James stared down at the soggy, pink mess in his arms as the strange man walked past him. He turned to watch him storm off but when he didn’t turn back, he figured this was some kind of joke. He turned his attention once again to the soggy paper in his arms. He pulled back the paper as it turned to mush in his hands and saw a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Bright, hopeful daisies and he instantly thought of his mother. They were her favorite flowers and in the summer she always kept a fresh bouquet of daisies in a vase in the kitchen.
“It’s like having your own personal vase of sunshine,” she would say as she would bake breads and cookies.
James put his mother, suffering from Alzhiemer’s in a nursing home five years ago, but after visiting a total of four times he decided it was too hard seeing his mother slowly forget who he was and he just stopped coming. He stared at the flowers and forgot about the dreary rain falling on his head.
He hailed a cab, flowers in hand and went directly to his mother’s nursing home. He held her hand and smiled a weak smile and looked up at him with glowing eyes.
“James? Is that my James?” She asked in a weak voice.
“Yes, mom, It’s me.” James said as he placed the daisies across her lap.
“Daisies? I love daisies, they are like my own personal sunshine. Now call your sister in for lunch.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with a hanky.
James sat for hours listening to his mother’s nonsensical ramblings. He held her hand tightly; never letting go and she talked and talked. Some moments she almost seemed to see him as he was at the moment, at other times she thought he was still a child, and still at other moments she lived in a completely foreign world. She died that night as James held her hand.
James looked at the flowers in his mother’s lap. If it weren’t for that strange man who had thrown the flowers at him that morning, he would have surely missed the last day of his mother’s life. He would have missed his mother recognizing him for one last time. He owed that man everything.
***
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number for the local cab company. I usually walked to work but the rain was coming down hard now. I really didn’t feel like going to work after the colossal mess from the morning, but I had to make a living. I ducked under an awning of an old apartment building to attempt to stay out of the rain while I was waiting for the cab.
I tried to push Susan out of my mind, but those damn eyes were all I could think about, those eyes so bright and hopeful, that smile, so sweet and kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her oatmeal- dull skin and the limp hair and the way she scribbled my order on her pad even though she has taken my order everyday for four years.
A loud honking brought me back to reality and I looked up to see my chariot awaiting me, a dirty yellow cab. I sighed and walked towards the cab when the door to the apartment building slammed open. A man still wearing his pajamas ran out with a hugely pregnant woman on his arm. By now I had reached the cab and opened the door, I turned to look at the couple approaching me. Every few seconds the woman stopped, her eyes would close and she would grasp her belly, her face streaked with tears and then she would breathe in deeply and exhale slowly, then continue walking a few more steps.
The man reached out and grabbed the cab door from my hands and I pulled back on the handle. He stared at me, an expression of shock dissolving into outrage. He pulled the door back from me as his wife breathed through yet another contraction getting soaked in the rain.
I was pissed. I was pissed that they had stolen my cab and now I would be late for work. I was pissed at their companionship and obvious love that I would never feel. I was pissed at the future they had together, even if they ended up hating each other, they had that child to bond them together. I hated the fact that they were of the elite “Remarkables” and thought they owned the world. They would never have to worry about being lonely. I was pissed that as the cab drove away I was left in the pouring rain in their wake.
***
Claire gently rubbed her tightening belly as she felt another strong contraction peak and fall. Her husband, Jake, ran his fingers through his hair and stared nervously out the cab window. She didn’t want to be in this smelly cab while she was in labor, she feared giving birth to their son in this dirty car and it made her nauseous. She had tried to rationalize with him, telling him that their car could get them there in just the same amount of time, but he saw the cab waiting, its door wide open and made a beeline for it.
She breathed through another contraction; they were getting closer now and more intense. They pulled up to the hospital emergency doors and Jake jumped out of the car before it had come to a full stop. He ran over to her door and yanked it open with so much force the door bounced back and closed in his face. She smiled, fighting back a laugh before being thrown once again into the pains of labor. He opened the door slower this time and when her contraction had subsided she stepped out into the pouring rain. The coolness of the rain was welcoming and she paused a moment, relishing in it.
Jake threw a twenty at the cab driver and pulled on his wife’s arm. Claire leaned into the open cab door and pulled out a business card from her purse and handed it to the driver.
“Could you go back and find that poor man who we stole this cab from and give him a ride?” She rolled her eyes and motioned to Jake who was impatiently hopping in the rain. “Some people, aren’t exactly thinking straight at the moment. Give him my card and tell him to call me, I would like to thank him personally.” She paused and breathed through another contraction. “Tell him, tell him he got us here right in time and we couldn’t have done it without him” Her eyes widened and she straightened up.
“Oh, God, Jake, it’s time. This baby is going to be born anytime!” she gasped. A nurse had appeared with a wheelchair and helped Claire sit down gently before being wheeled into the hospital.
***
I kicked at a puddle and stood in the torrential downpour. I was soaked to the bone, it didn’t matter anymore. I was pissed, no I was irate. Could this day get any fucking worse? I started angrily walking the twenty seven blocks so I could sit, rain-soaked, in my windowless cubicle making sales calls all damned day. It was barely even worth it, but I had nowhere else to go, so why not?
A car pulled up to me and I saw that it was the same cab that had deserted me on the sidewalk only ten minutes ago. I hesitated and the driver rolled down the window.
“You need a ride or what?” yelled the cabbie scratching the rough stubble across his jaw.
I walked slowly to the cab and got in.
“Hey, you look soaked.” The driver said with a half a smile.
“No shit,” I said, annoyed. He frowned then reached into his front seat. He smiled and tried to hand me a fluffy red towel.
“I keep these up here on days like these, I figured it’s better than nuthin’, right?” I rolled my eyes and pushed the towel away.
“No use to me now, is it? I mean after you left me soaking in the rain?” I snapped back.
“Where to, buddy?” the cabbie said dropping the towel unused on the seat.
“The office building on 5th Street,” I mumbled brushing the wet hair out of my eyes.
He turned onto the road and we rode the twenty seven blocks in awkward silence. He stopped in front of the office building and I stepped out into the rain. I pulled out my wallet; it was soaked and water-logged. I opened only to see the receipt from the florist and the scratch ticket I bought earlier, Lucky day, my ass. I counted the bills in my wallet and hung my head in frustration; I was a few dollars short.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I am a little short,” I mumbled.
“What?” the cabbie yelled turning to look up at me, “You get my seat soaking wet, you act like an jerk when I offer you a dry towel, and now your tellin’ me you can’t pay me?” his face reddened with anger.
“Look, I am only a few dollars short. It’s not a big deal.” I yelled back fighting the urge to punch the guy in the face.
“Maybe not for you, I got mouths to feed.”
“Look, just take my money and this scratch ticket, maybe you will get lucky. That’s all I have.” I threw the money and ticket at him and walked away as his tires screeched and he sped away. Damn Flea.
I stared at the door to my building and decided, fuck it. It’s not worth it. I started walking down the street towards the scenic park a few blocks away.
***
George could not believe the crap that guy just tried to pull. A scratch ticket? Was he serious? He pulled over a few blocks away and gathered up the loose bills and scratch ticket. He suddenly remembered the pregnant woman and her request to thank the man for helping them. Well, that man didn’t deserve gratitude anyway. He counted the money for the day and sighed. It was still relatively early but it was a slow day. He thought with the rain like it is he would have been picking up people left and right, but everyone must have decided to stay home today. He wished he would have done the same.
It was his daughter’s birthday, she was turning ten today. He was working hard just to feed them ever since his wife had died of cancer a year ago. It would be her first birthday without her mom and she was getting nothing. He could barely even afford the cake he ordered last week at his wife’s favorite bakery.
Now he sat in his cab, angry and frustrated. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel in anger. Then he looked over at the scratch ticket lying on the seat on top of his towels.
“What the heck,” he said, sighing, “might as well; my luck couldn’t get any worse.”
He scratched the ticket and then after reading the instructions twice, smiled. It wasn’t much, but he just won $100, just enough to order pizza for his daughter, maybe treat her to a movie and buy her that doll. It was all he needed. He shook his head. That man was awful, but he would have to find him and thank him. He would offer to give him a ride anywhere for free as long as he wanted.
***
I walked to the park and strolled through the trails. If anyone were out they would think I was crazy. Of course, I was the only one crazy enough to be out, but the rain was easing up. I walked to the bridge that arched over a rocky river. I stared down into the water flowing angrily over the rocks below and fantasized about jumping.
No one would realize I was gone. I had no family. I was forgettable. No one even knew I existed. Hell, they probably hadn’t even realized I hadn’t shown up to work yet. I wonder if the jump would kill me or just paralyze me. It would be horrible to be paralyzed. I wouldn’t be a forgettable anymore that was for sure, I would be a whole other class of human. The Lepers. The people you looked on with pity and disgust. Nobody really cared for Lepers; they just showered them with false optimism, when they all knew your life was pointless. It would be worse to live like that than as a Forgettable.
I stood up on the railing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to die; I just didn’t want to exist. I wanted to live. I wanted to love. The rain had slowed to a light mist and I lifted my head and held out my arms wanting more than anything to feel alive. Wanting just one person to remember, needing for once to be unforgettable.
***
Susan Roberts could not stop thinking about Patrick Sullivan. He had been in here every day for four years. She fantasized that he came in here just to see her. She used to imagine that when he ordered his breakfast, (coffee, plain, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain); he was really saying “I love you, Susan. I want you, Susan. I need you Susan.” She always smiled back at him and said “I love you, too, Patrick” in her head.
But today, he was different. He came in smiling and glowing. He had a bouquet of flowers. It saddened her to think that he had found someone, had loved someone, and had bought flowers for someone that wasn’t her. She could barely stand to look at him, she felt so foolish. Then he had left without even touching his food.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she missed something today. He wasn’t himself, and he just left so hastily. Something was wrong. She waited impatiently for her shift to end and as soon as her replacement showed up she was out the door.
She ran to her trusty, run-down little chevy and prayed that it would start. She knew where Patrick worked; she had seen his business card once while he was paying for his food. She also knew that he sometimes walked to the park a few blocks from his office during his lunch break. She wasn’t stalking him, she just saw him there a few times when she had been there taking pictures of the park. She wished she had her camera with her today; the best pictures were taken after the rain.
She drove around the park looking for Patrick’s brown hair, searching for somebody that was his height, his build, hoping that she would find him. She promised herself that if she found him she would tell him how she felt.
There he was. She was sure of it, standing on the bridge over the river. No, he was standing on the rail of the bridge, arms spread and head looking up to the sky.
“Oh, God,” She breathed parking the car and jumping out. She ran towards him and then stopped, afraid she would scare him and he would fall. She approached quietly and reached out her hands for him wanting to pull him down to safety.
“Patrick?” she said in a calm voice, “Patrick, don’t move. Please, don’t jump. I am right behind you. I see you…” she gasped as she saw him slip on the wet metal of the bridge rail.
***
I thought of Susan, of her fiery eyes and her shy smile. She wasn’t a forgettable. Not like me. She was beautiful and was loved, certainly. No person with a smile that illuminating could be unloved or forgettable. I couldn’t forget her, I loved her.
I swayed slightly with the wind, feeling weightless for a moment standing atop the wet bridge rail. I breathed in the fresh after-rain air and felt rejuvenated. If I still could feel that, if I could still feel love for Susan, then I could still live. I thought about her and could almost sense her looking at me, smiling at me in her gray uniform, pulling at her short skirt self-consciously as she made her way to me, her green eyes on fire. Her lips parted as she pulled out her pad of paper.
I wanted to live. I wanted to live for her. But what was the point when she didn’t see me? When I was just plain forgettable to her and the rest of the world? I grasped for something, anything that would keep me anchored to this world. Just then I heard a sweet, high voice. It was the voice of an angel, pure and true. Was I already dead? Suddenly I wanted to turn back to earth. I knew I didn’t want to die. I needed to live. The voice called to me by name and suddenly I recognized it. Susan. She was here, she loved me, and she remembered me. My heart filled with joy and I turned to see her standing a few feet away, arms stretched as if awaiting my embrace.
“Patrick? Patrick…I see you.” She said, pleadingly. Just then my foot slipped and with the wet metal I could not regain my balance. Before I knew what was happening, with a smile still on my face and my veins pulsing with life, I plummeted to the earth.
Quinn Hay
Some people are born to be great, their colors bright and brazen. I call them the “Remarkables”. Those people that you can’t help but notice, no matter how much you want to ignore them. Heads turn when they enter a room and you can’t help but secretly wish they knew you and would turn their head, smile and wave and make their way over to you sitting in the corner as all eyes turn and look at you with envy. These are the people who are star athletes and actors, politicians and leaders, people who have big dreams and the means to achieve them.
Then there are the “Fleas” of the world. Fleas wreak havoc in a house, you can’t help but notice their pinprick bites and they way they itch. When you see them jumping around, almost giddily, you are repulsed. The worst part? They multiply. They always multiply. Just when you think you got rid of them…BAM…another hundred pop up. “Fleas” are the people you notice, but you wish you didn’t. You know the type. Loud. Stupid. Ugly. They are stupid enough to believe that they are just the same as everyone else. Unfortunately, they don’t notice that other people stare at them in fascination, hoping they will do something unbelievably stupid so they will have something to tell their friends and family over the dinner table and laugh at. They live a life of bliss, thinking they are the center of attention, the life of the party. You know what they say, ignorance is bliss.
Then there are the people like me, The “Forgettables”. These are the people that are smart enough to realize they have no hope, no future beyond the mundane and know they can do nothing about it. They walk around in colors of grey, a smoky mist you think see out of the corner of your eye, but when you look again it has completely faded into the background. I think I would rather be anything but a “Forgettable”.
But forgettable is what I am. I am quite possibly even more invisible than most “Forgettables”, if that is possible. I once met an old fortune-teller who claimed she could see people’s auras. She would walk the streets, stopping people and telling them the color of their supposed auras and then try to convince them into paying her for a full fortune reading. She passed me over, not surprisingly, and noticed me several minutes later when she accidentally bumped into me. She twirled around, with all of her bright scarves and jewelry and grabbed my arms, a look of shock on her face.
“My, my young man,” she said in Eastern European accent I’m almost positive was fake; “I have never seen anything like this before. You have absolutely no aura, completely invisible. Let me read your fortune,”
I shrugged and shook my head no, attempting to twist out of her grasp, she only held on to me tighter. I could smell alcohol on her breath and see thick lines of makeup in the creases of her face. She breathed deeply and relaxed her grip “Alright, I will do it for free, then”
I stared at her for a moment and then rolled my eyes, relenting. She loosened her grip and pulled on my hands lifting them, palm up, to her face. She stared at them for what seemed like an eternity and then dropped them suddenly, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
“It’s not good, not good at all” she shook her head stiffly and her jewelry rang like bells.
“What is it?” I asked, I didn’t want to admit it, but she had piqued my interest.
“I will say no more,” she said dramatically fluttering her hand over her heart before turning and walking briskly down the street.
I am pretty sure she was a damn “Flea”.
Then, there was Susan. Susan was also a forgettable. She had a boring job as a waitress in the little dingy café I ate breakfast at every day of the week. I would sit at the same table at the same time every morning. I would order the same breakfast: Coffee, black, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain. She would scribble my order down, even though I am sure she had it memorized and smile slightly at me before rushing off to put in my order.
There was nothing spectacular at all about Susan. She was thin in the awkward way teenage girls are before hitting puberty, all knees and elbows. Though I am sure she was well into her 20’s, maybe even hitting her early thirties. She had thin, dull, mousey hair and pale oatmeal colored skin. If it weren’t for her eyes I would have never noticed her. They were a bright green, full of intelligence and happiness. It baffled me that she could be happy in her mundane life while I felt so bored and unfulfilled in my life, but her eyes gave me hope. And that beautiful little smile. She was forgettable, to everyone but me. I loved her with my whole being.
This is why I, Patrick Sullivan, completely unmemorable in every way, chose today to do something remarkable. Today, on a dreary, rainy Monday morning I was going to tell Susan the waitress (what was her last name?) that I loved her and have loved her since the first day I walked into this café four years ago and looked into those emerald eyes. Today was the first day of the rest of my life. Cliché, I know, but that is how I truly felt.
On the way to the café I ducked into a florist to buy some flowers for Susan. I browsed over the various flowers and colors and breathed in the thick heavy scent of roses, lilacs, and tulips. I contemplated a bouquet of bright red roses. No, roses didn’t fit Susan, they were loud and dramatic. Tulips, too bright. Finally I picked daisies. Daisies were Susan, simple and plain, yet hopeful. I purchased the flowers and the clerk wrapped them in pale pink paper. I stopped into a convenience store and bought a lottery ticket, this was my lucky day.
I entered the café, checked for Susan. She stood at the counter her back to the door. One long leg crossed delicately behind the other and she self-consciously pulled at the short hem of her dull gray uniform. I smiled and took my usual seat in the back corner.
She checked her watch then glanced back at my usual corner. She smiled, tucked a long strand of her hair back into her ponytail and made her way back to my table. I could feel my heart racing; my hands started sweating as I watched her weave through the tables.
Something was wrong; she didn’t smile as she usually did. She hung her head low and stared at her feet. She stood at my table but did not pull out her notepad from the pocket on her apron. Instead, she stared at the pink paper wrapped around the flowers.
“The usual today?” she said without emotion.
“Uh, yeah.” I was thrown off, not expecting this reaction.
She didn’t even scribble it down as usual, but walked away without looking at me or smiling. She walked back to the counter and yelled to the cook “The usual.”
A few minutes later she dropped my plate on the table unceremoniously, and slid my steaming cup of coffee next to my plate without once looking at me or flashing me that unforgettable smile. I wasn’t expecting this but I knew that I absolutely could not live without those brilliant green eyes and that smile. I dropped my napkin on my plate, grabbed the flowers and left my breakfast untouched.
I walked out of the café without looking back once. It was still raining and the pink paper was turning into a soggy mess. A man walked past me, balding with his hands shoved into his pockets. Judging by the way he walked I would say he was a Forgettable. I needed to get rid of these damn flowers; they were like a poison reminding me of my failures. I shoved the flowers into the chest of the balding man. He looked up at me, surprised and grabbed the bouquet reflexively. I let go of the flowers and continued walking, feeling free of my burden.
***
James stared down at the soggy, pink mess in his arms as the strange man walked past him. He turned to watch him storm off but when he didn’t turn back, he figured this was some kind of joke. He turned his attention once again to the soggy paper in his arms. He pulled back the paper as it turned to mush in his hands and saw a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Bright, hopeful daisies and he instantly thought of his mother. They were her favorite flowers and in the summer she always kept a fresh bouquet of daisies in a vase in the kitchen.
“It’s like having your own personal vase of sunshine,” she would say as she would bake breads and cookies.
James put his mother, suffering from Alzhiemer’s in a nursing home five years ago, but after visiting a total of four times he decided it was too hard seeing his mother slowly forget who he was and he just stopped coming. He stared at the flowers and forgot about the dreary rain falling on his head.
He hailed a cab, flowers in hand and went directly to his mother’s nursing home. He held her hand and smiled a weak smile and looked up at him with glowing eyes.
“James? Is that my James?” She asked in a weak voice.
“Yes, mom, It’s me.” James said as he placed the daisies across her lap.
“Daisies? I love daisies, they are like my own personal sunshine. Now call your sister in for lunch.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with a hanky.
James sat for hours listening to his mother’s nonsensical ramblings. He held her hand tightly; never letting go and she talked and talked. Some moments she almost seemed to see him as he was at the moment, at other times she thought he was still a child, and still at other moments she lived in a completely foreign world. She died that night as James held her hand.
James looked at the flowers in his mother’s lap. If it weren’t for that strange man who had thrown the flowers at him that morning, he would have surely missed the last day of his mother’s life. He would have missed his mother recognizing him for one last time. He owed that man everything.
***
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number for the local cab company. I usually walked to work but the rain was coming down hard now. I really didn’t feel like going to work after the colossal mess from the morning, but I had to make a living. I ducked under an awning of an old apartment building to attempt to stay out of the rain while I was waiting for the cab.
I tried to push Susan out of my mind, but those damn eyes were all I could think about, those eyes so bright and hopeful, that smile, so sweet and kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her oatmeal- dull skin and the limp hair and the way she scribbled my order on her pad even though she has taken my order everyday for four years.
A loud honking brought me back to reality and I looked up to see my chariot awaiting me, a dirty yellow cab. I sighed and walked towards the cab when the door to the apartment building slammed open. A man still wearing his pajamas ran out with a hugely pregnant woman on his arm. By now I had reached the cab and opened the door, I turned to look at the couple approaching me. Every few seconds the woman stopped, her eyes would close and she would grasp her belly, her face streaked with tears and then she would breathe in deeply and exhale slowly, then continue walking a few more steps.
The man reached out and grabbed the cab door from my hands and I pulled back on the handle. He stared at me, an expression of shock dissolving into outrage. He pulled the door back from me as his wife breathed through yet another contraction getting soaked in the rain.
I was pissed. I was pissed that they had stolen my cab and now I would be late for work. I was pissed at their companionship and obvious love that I would never feel. I was pissed at the future they had together, even if they ended up hating each other, they had that child to bond them together. I hated the fact that they were of the elite “Remarkables” and thought they owned the world. They would never have to worry about being lonely. I was pissed that as the cab drove away I was left in the pouring rain in their wake.
***
Claire gently rubbed her tightening belly as she felt another strong contraction peak and fall. Her husband, Jake, ran his fingers through his hair and stared nervously out the cab window. She didn’t want to be in this smelly cab while she was in labor, she feared giving birth to their son in this dirty car and it made her nauseous. She had tried to rationalize with him, telling him that their car could get them there in just the same amount of time, but he saw the cab waiting, its door wide open and made a beeline for it.
She breathed through another contraction; they were getting closer now and more intense. They pulled up to the hospital emergency doors and Jake jumped out of the car before it had come to a full stop. He ran over to her door and yanked it open with so much force the door bounced back and closed in his face. She smiled, fighting back a laugh before being thrown once again into the pains of labor. He opened the door slower this time and when her contraction had subsided she stepped out into the pouring rain. The coolness of the rain was welcoming and she paused a moment, relishing in it.
Jake threw a twenty at the cab driver and pulled on his wife’s arm. Claire leaned into the open cab door and pulled out a business card from her purse and handed it to the driver.
“Could you go back and find that poor man who we stole this cab from and give him a ride?” She rolled her eyes and motioned to Jake who was impatiently hopping in the rain. “Some people, aren’t exactly thinking straight at the moment. Give him my card and tell him to call me, I would like to thank him personally.” She paused and breathed through another contraction. “Tell him, tell him he got us here right in time and we couldn’t have done it without him” Her eyes widened and she straightened up.
“Oh, God, Jake, it’s time. This baby is going to be born anytime!” she gasped. A nurse had appeared with a wheelchair and helped Claire sit down gently before being wheeled into the hospital.
***
I kicked at a puddle and stood in the torrential downpour. I was soaked to the bone, it didn’t matter anymore. I was pissed, no I was irate. Could this day get any fucking worse? I started angrily walking the twenty seven blocks so I could sit, rain-soaked, in my windowless cubicle making sales calls all damned day. It was barely even worth it, but I had nowhere else to go, so why not?
A car pulled up to me and I saw that it was the same cab that had deserted me on the sidewalk only ten minutes ago. I hesitated and the driver rolled down the window.
“You need a ride or what?” yelled the cabbie scratching the rough stubble across his jaw.
I walked slowly to the cab and got in.
“Hey, you look soaked.” The driver said with a half a smile.
“No shit,” I said, annoyed. He frowned then reached into his front seat. He smiled and tried to hand me a fluffy red towel.
“I keep these up here on days like these, I figured it’s better than nuthin’, right?” I rolled my eyes and pushed the towel away.
“No use to me now, is it? I mean after you left me soaking in the rain?” I snapped back.
“Where to, buddy?” the cabbie said dropping the towel unused on the seat.
“The office building on 5th Street,” I mumbled brushing the wet hair out of my eyes.
He turned onto the road and we rode the twenty seven blocks in awkward silence. He stopped in front of the office building and I stepped out into the rain. I pulled out my wallet; it was soaked and water-logged. I opened only to see the receipt from the florist and the scratch ticket I bought earlier, Lucky day, my ass. I counted the bills in my wallet and hung my head in frustration; I was a few dollars short.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I am a little short,” I mumbled.
“What?” the cabbie yelled turning to look up at me, “You get my seat soaking wet, you act like an jerk when I offer you a dry towel, and now your tellin’ me you can’t pay me?” his face reddened with anger.
“Look, I am only a few dollars short. It’s not a big deal.” I yelled back fighting the urge to punch the guy in the face.
“Maybe not for you, I got mouths to feed.”
“Look, just take my money and this scratch ticket, maybe you will get lucky. That’s all I have.” I threw the money and ticket at him and walked away as his tires screeched and he sped away. Damn Flea.
I stared at the door to my building and decided, fuck it. It’s not worth it. I started walking down the street towards the scenic park a few blocks away.
***
George could not believe the crap that guy just tried to pull. A scratch ticket? Was he serious? He pulled over a few blocks away and gathered up the loose bills and scratch ticket. He suddenly remembered the pregnant woman and her request to thank the man for helping them. Well, that man didn’t deserve gratitude anyway. He counted the money for the day and sighed. It was still relatively early but it was a slow day. He thought with the rain like it is he would have been picking up people left and right, but everyone must have decided to stay home today. He wished he would have done the same.
It was his daughter’s birthday, she was turning ten today. He was working hard just to feed them ever since his wife had died of cancer a year ago. It would be her first birthday without her mom and she was getting nothing. He could barely even afford the cake he ordered last week at his wife’s favorite bakery.
Now he sat in his cab, angry and frustrated. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel in anger. Then he looked over at the scratch ticket lying on the seat on top of his towels.
“What the heck,” he said, sighing, “might as well; my luck couldn’t get any worse.”
He scratched the ticket and then after reading the instructions twice, smiled. It wasn’t much, but he just won $100, just enough to order pizza for his daughter, maybe treat her to a movie and buy her that doll. It was all he needed. He shook his head. That man was awful, but he would have to find him and thank him. He would offer to give him a ride anywhere for free as long as he wanted.
***
I walked to the park and strolled through the trails. If anyone were out they would think I was crazy. Of course, I was the only one crazy enough to be out, but the rain was easing up. I walked to the bridge that arched over a rocky river. I stared down into the water flowing angrily over the rocks below and fantasized about jumping.
No one would realize I was gone. I had no family. I was forgettable. No one even knew I existed. Hell, they probably hadn’t even realized I hadn’t shown up to work yet. I wonder if the jump would kill me or just paralyze me. It would be horrible to be paralyzed. I wouldn’t be a forgettable anymore that was for sure, I would be a whole other class of human. The Lepers. The people you looked on with pity and disgust. Nobody really cared for Lepers; they just showered them with false optimism, when they all knew your life was pointless. It would be worse to live like that than as a Forgettable.
I stood up on the railing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to die; I just didn’t want to exist. I wanted to live. I wanted to love. The rain had slowed to a light mist and I lifted my head and held out my arms wanting more than anything to feel alive. Wanting just one person to remember, needing for once to be unforgettable.
***
Susan Roberts could not stop thinking about Patrick Sullivan. He had been in here every day for four years. She fantasized that he came in here just to see her. She used to imagine that when he ordered his breakfast, (coffee, plain, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain); he was really saying “I love you, Susan. I want you, Susan. I need you Susan.” She always smiled back at him and said “I love you, too, Patrick” in her head.
But today, he was different. He came in smiling and glowing. He had a bouquet of flowers. It saddened her to think that he had found someone, had loved someone, and had bought flowers for someone that wasn’t her. She could barely stand to look at him, she felt so foolish. Then he had left without even touching his food.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she missed something today. He wasn’t himself, and he just left so hastily. Something was wrong. She waited impatiently for her shift to end and as soon as her replacement showed up she was out the door.
She ran to her trusty, run-down little chevy and prayed that it would start. She knew where Patrick worked; she had seen his business card once while he was paying for his food. She also knew that he sometimes walked to the park a few blocks from his office during his lunch break. She wasn’t stalking him, she just saw him there a few times when she had been there taking pictures of the park. She wished she had her camera with her today; the best pictures were taken after the rain.
She drove around the park looking for Patrick’s brown hair, searching for somebody that was his height, his build, hoping that she would find him. She promised herself that if she found him she would tell him how she felt.
There he was. She was sure of it, standing on the bridge over the river. No, he was standing on the rail of the bridge, arms spread and head looking up to the sky.
“Oh, God,” She breathed parking the car and jumping out. She ran towards him and then stopped, afraid she would scare him and he would fall. She approached quietly and reached out her hands for him wanting to pull him down to safety.
“Patrick?” she said in a calm voice, “Patrick, don’t move. Please, don’t jump. I am right behind you. I see you…” she gasped as she saw him slip on the wet metal of the bridge rail.
***
I thought of Susan, of her fiery eyes and her shy smile. She wasn’t a forgettable. Not like me. She was beautiful and was loved, certainly. No person with a smile that illuminating could be unloved or forgettable. I couldn’t forget her, I loved her.
I swayed slightly with the wind, feeling weightless for a moment standing atop the wet bridge rail. I breathed in the fresh after-rain air and felt rejuvenated. If I still could feel that, if I could still feel love for Susan, then I could still live. I thought about her and could almost sense her looking at me, smiling at me in her gray uniform, pulling at her short skirt self-consciously as she made her way to me, her green eyes on fire. Her lips parted as she pulled out her pad of paper.
I wanted to live. I wanted to live for her. But what was the point when she didn’t see me? When I was just plain forgettable to her and the rest of the world? I grasped for something, anything that would keep me anchored to this world. Just then I heard a sweet, high voice. It was the voice of an angel, pure and true. Was I already dead? Suddenly I wanted to turn back to earth. I knew I didn’t want to die. I needed to live. The voice called to me by name and suddenly I recognized it. Susan. She was here, she loved me, and she remembered me. My heart filled with joy and I turned to see her standing a few feet away, arms stretched as if awaiting my embrace.
“Patrick? Patrick…I see you.” She said, pleadingly. Just then my foot slipped and with the wet metal I could not regain my balance. Before I knew what was happening, with a smile still on my face and my veins pulsing with life, I plummeted to the earth.
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