OK everyone, I am far from finished with the stories, and obviously this piece is very unfinished, too. I am placing it up here today though for a couple of reasons. First, so all the worried parties can understand where this is going and not think I’m just full of sadness. Second, because I have a New Year’s challenge for you all! Details will be at the end . . .
As a note, please don’t hate me. You’ll see how truly unfinished this portion is: it will build as the other stories build and it doesn’t include the ones I’ve written but have not posted. Bear with me, though, and let’s have fun with the challenge!
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Carol wakes to the sound of someone knocking at her door. She pulls herself out of bed, wraps a robe about her naked body, and quickly runs her fingers through gnarled hair. Negotiating various piles of junk and debris, she makes her way to the door of her studio apartment. “Who is it?”
“Ms. Jenkins? I’m Victor Henderson on behalf of Jack Barton. Can I get a moment of your time?” At another time Carol would have cared that she and the house is a mess and asked him to come back later. Carol has had a hard time caring about much of anything in the two months since Zachary died, though, so instead she opened the door and invited the man in. Victor stands near six feet tall and is dressed in an immaculate black suit with a black briefcase in his left hand. He proffers his right hand to Carol in introduction. Carol keeps her arms crossed before her, though, so Victor coughs awkwardly and says, “I apologize for coming here without notice, but I am responsible for executing the will of Mr. Barton and have information for you regarding the same.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Henderson, but I don’t know a Jack Barton, so there clearly is some mistake.”
“I understand that you might not remember Mr. Barton. I don’t know the specifics, but your interaction with him was likely very brief, it was how he did things. I am certain you are the Carol Jenkins I am looking for. You work at Denny’s and recently lost your son in birth, correct?”
“Yes to both accounts, but I really do not know this man and right now I just want to go back to sleep, so if you’ll please . . .” Carol gestures toward the door, making it quite clear that she wants Victor to leave.
For his part, Victor shakes his head. “I’ll be on my way shortly ma’am, but I am required to deliver this message to you. It is up to you whether you follow its instructions or not, but I promise I’ll be out of your way very shortly.” That said Victor pulls up his briefcase and, seeing no place available to rest it, opens it before himself, balancing it on his left arm. From inside, he pulls out a white envelope with Carol’s name on it and holds the envelope toward Carol. “All of the details are inside. I apologize for inconveniencing you.”
Carol takes the envelope but says nothing. Victor, taking his cue, closes his briefcase and leaves the apartment, closing the door behind him. Carol stands there for a moment bewildered, then breaks the seal on the envelope and removes the contents. The first thing she sees is the picture of a familiar face on a cutout from the newspaper; it is the man she served coffee to so long ago. That Jack.
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Dave turns in his chair to the knock on his open office door. A man in a black suit and carrying a briefcase enters his office and approaches his desk, saying, “Mr. Phillips, I’m Victor Henderson, may I have a moment?”
“Certainly.” Dave gestures toward an empty seat in front of his desk, “Please, have a seat.”
“No thank you sir, I’ll be but a minute. I’m here on behalf of Jack Barton and I’ve simply come to deliver a missive.”
Dave thinks for a moment, but cannot place the name. “I’m afraid I cannot remember a Jack Barton.”
“That’s OK sir, not many people do.” He sets the briefcase on Dave’s desk and opens it, pulling out another white envelope and handing it to Dave. “At some point you came in contact with Mr. Barton and, for whatever reason, you made an impression upon him. He requests your presence, the details are inside. Thank you for your time.” Victor shuts the briefcase and offers his hand once again.
Shaking Victor’s hand Dave says, “No worries, thank you.” Dave then turns his attention to the envelope as Victor exits the office. Dave pulls three sheets of paper from the envelope: an obituary with a familiar face, an invitation to attend a meeting at a conference room in the Radisson, and a copy of a letter which is signed “Jack Barton.”
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Victor is standing in the doorway to the Radisson conference room, greeting the guests as they arrive: inviting them to help themselves to refreshments and snacks and have a seat at the large table set in the center of the room. Dave is already there, along with many others. It is five minutes past the scheduled time scheduled meeting time and he moves to shut the doors. As he does so, Carol, dressed entirely in black, enters the hallway and walks toward him.
Victor lets one door close, but holds the other as Carol approaches. “Good afternoon Ms. Jenkins, I’m glad you made it. Please have something to eat and drink, we’ll get started shortly.” Carol just nods and walks directly to a chair at the table.
Victor lets the second door close and takes a quick count of those in attendance. There are a few missing, but most are there, all looking expectantly toward Victor as he takes his place at the head of the table. “Thank you all for coming, I hope getting here was not too much bother for you all. I apologize for not being able to provide more details as I met each of you, but Mr. Barton wanted me to address you all at once.
“None of you had a chance to get to know Mr. Barton except for whatever small manner you came in contact with him before. One thing made Mr. Barton exceptional: he loved life and sought always to improve the lives of others around him. He faced many tragedies of his own, but found great comfort in helping others. By his own hands he became very rich, and committed early on to use that wealth to help other people be happy.
“Mr. Barton understood that it is not always money that people need, but he also understood that in most cases it can certainly help. In his will he left a large portion of his estate to be divided among you all here. It is a considerable sum of money for each of you, and it comes with one command: that you use it to continue Mr. Barton’s work. You will not be monitored in your use of the funds, but rather it was Mr. Barton’s hope that you would understand and find happiness in helping others as he did.”
With that, Victor again produces his black briefcase, setting it on the table before him. From inside, he pulls out more envelopes, again offering them to their respective recipients. Once all are passed out, minus those belonging to people who did not attend, Victor continues. “Inside those envelopes is a check from Mr. Barton’s estate. You are all welcome to remain here and get to know one another or leave, the room is reserved for the entire day and the food and drinks will remain as long as someone is here. The funeral directions are in the obituary you all received, you are all welcome to attend.” Victor then turns and, briefcase in hand, departs.
Everyone at the table watched Victor leave, then quietly opens their own envelope. There are gasps, tears, and cheers as each finds that they are suddenly millionaires. For her part, Carol just sits, not sure how she should feel. Cell phones sprout all around the room, excited voices telling others about their luck. Some people stay and talk, some people leave, and some just sit.
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The funeral is not extravagant, but it’s nice. For his service in the Army, Jack received full military honors. All of the newly rich are there; some looking the part but most looking much the same. As the ceremony draws to close they all file past the grave to pay their respects before returning to their cars and hectic life.
Carol stops at the headstone, which is already in place. It bears three weathered names with Jack’s in the middle between his wife and son. Though Jack just died, his death date matches that of his son over 30 years prior. On the back of the headstone is its only new marking, it says, “Happiness is a decision, one that cannot be made for us. Sometimes, though, we can get a little help along the way.”
Carol thinks about that for a minute, remembering how pivotal Jack’s short influence on her life was. She, along with most everyone else at the funeral, walks away determined to continue Jack’s legacy. She walks away decided to be happy and help others be happy as well.
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Now, I said all that just to say that last part, that happiness truly is a decision. So here’s the challenge, and my friend Krys has already started it for us on her blog here. Make a New Year’s Resolution if you want, but we all know that doesn’t work. Instead, let’s make a decision to be happy.
All of us have something hanging in the air, something we need to make a decision on. For some it is very specific, for others it is a little vague. For Krys, it was simply to be brave, which is important to her. Like Krys, we’re all going to make a decision that will lead to happiness.
So think about it for a minute. Think about that one thing that you can decide to do or become that will make you happy. Then write about it. If you have a blog, write it there and link it here in a comment to this one. If you don’t have a blog, or just want to write it here, hit the comment button and write away. Be as brief or as elaborate as you wish, but MAKE A DECISION! Feel free to come back and talk about progress and milestones along the way, too!
For my part, I have decided to be healthy. Physically, I’ve been addicted to cigarettes for 8 years – a fact which disgusts me – and I never sleep right. My decision to be healthy will address those things. Emotionally I have a lot of unaddressed issues, which my writing is helping me bring out, but my decision to be healthy will ultimately provide motivation to continue addressing. For those who know me well, you know my relationships have not all been very healthy for me either, so now I’m going to take the time to do what is right for me there as well. Be healthy, that is my decision. What’s yours?
