A Friend To You

A man. A man in a suit. A man in a suit holding a bag. No one notices this man, well as one might notice a screen saver or the brightness of a sky. It's usual. He's usual. As it should be, and so is this man. With a brisk walk and a straight back, he knows where he's going. Walking parallel to the train platform, he enters once the flood of prior passengers exit, making way for the new. It's one of those days you don't really remember taking place, one that lands in the middle of the week filled with average weather and ordinary conversation. A day that makes you second guess you even existed in it in the first place. But all of that is about to change. The man holds his parcel close; waiting for his stop, he pushes it behind the cover of his feet. Exiting the train, he doesn't look back.

The steady population of the train passengers thins the further the tracks roll through suburb after suburb. A young man on his way back from a nerve-wracking job interview enters the train. Taking the seat, the man in the suit once occupied the corner of a small box pressed into the back of his calf. The train is empty enough for his curiosity to get the better of him. Fishing for the object, his hands land on a rectangular box wrapped neatly in brown paper. No bigger than the size of an A4 page and no deeper than an ashtray. Weighing the box in his hand, the man shook it back and forth, hoping it wasn't a bomb. As light as it was, he figured it must be a shopper's forgotten birthday present the way it was wrapped; tucking it into his backpack, he would wait until he was home to open it up.

The rest of the train ride passed in a blur, the man- Sterling wondered at the box and what laid inside. A tie? Some old photographs? A puzzle, maybe? The automated chime of his destination pulled him out of the guessing game and back onto the biting night air of the near-empty train platform. Making for a quick route to his locked-up bike, he didn't hang around, not at this hour if he wanted to make it home.

The comfortable stillness of his apartment settled around Sterling, flicking on lights one by one as if to wake up the apartment like he was calling out 'I'm home' to the small rooms and walls that surrounded him. Unzipping his backpack, he reached for the package, centering it on the dining table; he stared at it for a moment. As if to try and see through the box. Blowing out an exasperated breath at not being physic, Sterling ripped at the paper, revealing a brown box underneath, flicking the tabs open on the side, his own body tensed with anticipation as the lid lifted.

A polaroid snapshot and a folded piece of paper stared back at him. 'Well, if that had been a bomb, that would've been a dampener on my week.' Bringing the box closer now that it poised no bodily threat to his existence, Sterling held the photograph to the light. The photo of a young girl, maybe eight or ten, sat smiling in its borders. Long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, staring through black-rimmed glasses too big for her face. She seemed happy in the photograph, like the person behind the camera had just told her a joke or pulled a face to get the reaction. Turning it on its side, a date was scrolled in blue ink on its back, 'Class of eighty-two, Mia.'

Unfolding the piece of paper in the box, Sterling read aloud, feeling that it seemed fitting, given the peculiarity of the box.

'Mia Watson of Thirty-Two Melody Lane had a dream I'd like you to ask her about. The envelope in this box isn't for you; it's for her to open if she chooses. Your job, if you take it, is to convince her to open it. I'm throwing faith into the wind by asking for your help, but please, if this doesn't interest you or you aren't up to the task, kindly put me back where you found me.

The warmest regards,

A friend to you.'

Rereading the instruction, Sterling took a seat in the kitchen, leading a fairly ordinary life he had never come across something so interesting and strange at the same time. Taking one last look at the photograph and sealed envelope he found carefully tucked into the box, his mind made itself up.

'See you soon, Mia.'

The trek to the mysterious Melody Lane took a lot longer than Sterling was expecting; after three bus rides, a dangerous uphill battle with his bike, and a further thirty-minute walk through the countryside, Sterling stood, out of breath, covered in sweat, staring at the sign leading to Melody Lane. Counting the neatly cut, manicured gardens, number Thirty-two sat in the middle of the Lane- a pink painted wheelbarrow transformed into a birdbath laid on the lawn. A curl of summer breeze ruffled Sterling's damp hair, drying some of the sweat on the back of his neck. Leaving his bike by the square hedges, he found himself knocking on the front door without a plan to explain his appearance. Before he could come up with a lie, a stocky woman in her mid-fifties opened the door with a beaming smile and the same thick-rimmed glasses.

'Hi, I uh, I don't really know where to start but are you, Mia?'

'Yes, yes, that's me.'

'Mia Watson?'

'If this is a religious call, I'm afraid you're too late, my love. I've already been converted, changed back, and born again.'

'Oh no, it's not religious. I just, this will sound strange, but well, I found something that you need to read.'

Reaching into his back, Sterling handed her the box he found on the train. Opening it with care, Mia held the Polaroid to her eyes. 'Oh, yes, I remember this. Where did you say you found it?'

'On a train. With a set of instructions to find you.'

Her smile returned. 'Well, I guess I better let you in; mysteries aren't solved in doorways but over a good cup of brewed tea, my love.'

Welcoming him into her home, two cats snaked their way out of their hiding spots, one black one white they wove through Sterling's legs. 'That's Yin and Yang, don't mind them, dear; they love the company.' Boiling the kettle, Sterling took the chance to take in the room, lined with photographs of distant lands and trinkets; it was not at all what he was expecting. Clay vases, hand-blown glass, swords, and even a dangerous-looking axe held behind cupboards filled the room. Realising if Sterling had been a crazed lunatic, he had no doubt Mia would have used one of the many weapons in the room on him. Following his gaze to the axe, Mia let out a chuckle. 'Looking at all of my lifetimes, are you? That's a fourteenth-century axe, known as a halberd. Dangerous thing probably still has blood on it.' She spoke with a smile and a plate of biscuits at the ready, making the whole exchange somewhat amusing and unnerving at the same time.

'I'm supposed to give you this.' Thumbing the envelope from the box, Sterling traded her for the plate of chocolate-covered biscuits.

Taking the small card from Sterling, Mia ran her nail along its underside, cutting through its opening. 'It says, I want to be proud of myself.' Folding the card in half, she covered it with her hands as if it remained a living, breathing thing that pressed against her skin, and she pressed back. 'I wrote that when I was nine years old.' Mia smiled, her eyes finding the photograph Sterling had given to her. 'Nine years old. I think you know things when you're younger, and then as time goes on, you forget the world's truths. I think the only time we really see things for what they are is when we have the eyes of a child.' Mia spoke almost to herself like if Sterling wasn't in the room, she would say exactly as she had said, even if only to herself.

'Does any of this make sense to you? Cause I'm having a hard time piecing it together?'

Mia tapped her fingers on the Polaroid. 'Like I said, no mystery's ever been solved in a doorway. I remember writing this note, I guess, to my future self. We had this teacher, Ms. Sier, and she wanted us to dream of not being something but of becoming something. She didn't want a title. She wanted an emotion.'

'And you picked being proud?'

'I did. It was the first thing that came into my mind.' She paused, lost in the memory. 'Was anything else in the box?'

'Just this.'

Handing her the instructions, Mia's smile grew with the last parting sentence. 'A friend to you.' She repeated. 'I think I know who sent this. I used to go to school with a boy, well, a man now. He was quiet, kind, kept mostly to himself, but he had a fascination for people. Harmless, really, but I always thought he was a bit lost.'

'Do you remember what his dream was?'

'I do; he wanted to be found. To be seen.'

Sterling nodded, finishing off another chocolate biscuit. 'Do you remember his name?'

'Sam, his name was Sam.'

'I think this is the part where I ask you if you succeeded in achieving your dream. Are you proud of yourself, Mia?'

Taking in the room around her, the photographs filled with rich memories and stories she wouldn't have believed belonged to her life. The house that had become a home around her and the three wonderful children she had seen off into the bittersweet chaos of life. 'Things are never as simple as when you're younger, but somehow I think that's the joy of life- growing with it, not fighting against it. I've seen a lot of days, done a lot of things, and to help you with your mystery, I think it's only right to give you your answer. I am proud of myself because I chose a life worth living, my dear, I chose my paths, and that's all any of us can really do- show up in the morning and be willing to hunt down the opportunities that make our hearts beat a little faster.' Mia reached for Sterling's hand, giving it a warm squeeze. 'Now, I wonder if you'd be so kind to do me a favour.' Her brown eyes found his.

The man in the suit blended into the crowd, a new parcel wrapped tightly under the cover of his coat. Comfortable in the shadow strangers cast over one another by not truly seeing one another, Sam could do his work- an experiment in human curiosity. Waiting until the train thinned out, Sam placed his parcel out from the cover of plain sight, taking to the platform a yell caused him to turn.

'Sam?' An unfamiliar voice called, turning to meet a young man. He handed him an almost identical parcel. 'Mia wanted me to tell you she sees you, Sam, and that after all these years, she would like to meet up again.' Sterling smiled at the man with kind eyes and a slight smile. 'I found you, Sam, I found you. And I think I'd like to be a friend to you.'

'I'd like that.' Sam smiled back. 'I'd like that very much.'

The train sped past, a different parcel waiting in its spot for another curious hand to find it and bring it into the light.