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Excerpt
Final Destination
After several rainy days,
the sun decided to shine over the city.
From his bed, switching
the alarm off for the third or fourth time, all that Mark could see was that
there were no rain drops sliding down his windows.
Even living on the twentieth floor in one of several skyscrapers in the city
did not enable him to have the sun shining into his bedroom. The next building was too close. No space for sunrays. Only light filtered by skyscrapers’ morning
shadows. No wonder that it was not easy
to wake up. There was never really
sunlight inside.
“No rain drops today, can
it be that it is sunny outside?” said Mark to himself, going out of his bed.
***
“Why does the elevator take
so long to come, every time I’m late?” murmured Mark, pressing the elevator’s call
bottom again and again, as would a mysterious law of physics make it come
faster if you push the button again…and again…and again. Like parents who seem to believe that their
teenage kids will go out of their beds faster in the morning if they call them
several times, Mark kept pressing the bottom.
It neither works with
teenagers, nor with elevators.
But maybe to try…makes you
feel that you are doing something to rush things. And when it finally happens, because it’s time
for it, or because time passed by (in the elevator case), or they go finally go
out of bed by their own will (in the teenagers’ case), it makes you feel good
that you did something for it.
But the truth is, that
does not help or work at all.
Eager to feel the sun on
his face during the few steps to his workplace, it wasn’t easy for Mark to
wait.
“Maybe I should take the
stairs today,“ thought Mark, while he imagined himself running all the way down
to the street. He wanted to arrive
earlier at work; it was his first “own office” and even having only two employees,
it took him years to come to the position of being a Boss, and he wanted to be
a good one.
More people came to wait
in front of the elevator.
Beatrice, who lived in the
apartment across from his one, came too.
Beatrice was a harp player
in the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. A graduate
of the University of Toronto's Bachelor of Music program, she already performed
works written for her. Her presence was
intimidating for Mark. He never know
what to say to her; every time he tried to impress her, he said the wrong
thing, as would his words decide to be the most tuneless thing she would ever
hear. Yes, he had a crush on her.
Even so, they used to stop at Starbucks and drink a coffee
together before work. Walking mostly in
silence. Beatrice had a crush on Mark
too.
“Coffee today, Mark?” asked Beatrice.
“Sure,” answered Mark. “I
think I will take the stairs, go to Starbucks and wait for you in front of the building.
The elevator is taking years to come. See you soon, Beatrice.”
“But…”
Mark disappeared before Beatrice could say something.
***
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