London Culling

Unforunately, I missed the deadline for the Little Black Notebook Writing Contest. Here is my late submission:

Part 1

Boot up sequence. Initializing. Iconic Mac noise. Open Firefox. Or Safari. Who cares? Same shit, different day. Same saying, different day. Wake up, eat garbage, go to work, be a drone, smile, nod, laugh at the boss’ stupid jokes, go home, eat garbage, consume streaming schlock, sleep. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Today is the same. The same as any day ending is d-a-y. The gray, rainy sky drizzling over London proper only seemed to confirm it. The quarantine made it worse. Life in mid 2020 made it worse. Reznor didn’t know how right he was: “Every Day Is Exactly the Same”.

Amy already killed her watch list on Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, Disney+, even the B rater streaming services like Shudder and Tubi. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Amy’s latest fun comes from searching the community section on Craigslist. Looking for love, looking for a companion, let’s play chess, just fuck me for Christ’s sake. 3rd post from the top. Only an address: 12 Old Compton St SoHo, London W1D 4TQ United Kingdom. A quick google search reveals the address to be the bar Swift Soho. It’s not open yet. Why would somebody list their address now?

Amy’s curiosity stoked, it’s worth checking out. the post is only 42 minutes old. A short, brisk walk later, Amy is there. On the side of the fancy bar is graffiti artwork depicting what we all need right now: connection. Two people clasped in each other’s arms while the rain falls. Beautiful. Poignant. Hopeful. Hope is what we need right now. In front of the graffiti is a stool with a little black notebook. Inside is a print of the art and a note: “If you sell this print, please share the proceeds with a charity of your choice. -B.”

Amy immediately knew which charity she would choose: The Arts Council of England. As much as Amy would love to keep the print, she desperately needs the money. Bills keep piling up and the quarantine keeps interfering with her ability to make money. Fortunately, her job recently approved working from home when going into the office is not possible. Doesn’t matter if the reason is a possible COVID infection, a sick pet or sports’ injury.

Amy twirled in a circle while imagining what this money could allow in her life. Caught up on bills was one thing but what about, dare she think it: a vacation? But where to go during this time? Maybe buying a house or at least a down payment? Amy smiles to herself and giddily jumps up and down allowing her imagination to run rampant.

“Hello. What have you got there?” Her happiness quickly interrupted just as 2020 promised. Looking up, she sees a man standing at the corner of the intersecting streets. He is a miserly-looking, scrawny bearded man. Late 40s, maybe early 50s. A sadness penetrates his being; a man defeated by his own choices. Suddenly, Amy no longer feels like celebrating as a brooding fight comes over her. “My name’s Timmy. Timmy Worthington.”

Amy did not want to return his greeting, his icy stare or anything he had to offer. Reluctantly, she states “Amy Durham. What do you want?”

“I watched you pick up that notebook. The bar’s property. Just making sure you don’t make off with it. The police are on their way and we don’t want the crime scene disturbed.” Timmy said coldly.

“This isn’t a crime scene. This is a beautiful work of art. And further, this notebook is mine.” Amy retorted with her own miserliness.

“Come now. We all know that notebook was sitting on that stool as long as the graffiti on the wall. Now please be reasonable and give us the notebook.”

Amy had no intention of giving up the notebook. Inside held her dreams, aspirations and only source of happiness this year. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Timmy took a few steps toward Amy but before he could respond the sound of sirens took over the conversation. “Ah! That would be the police now. They can settle this matter for us.” Timmy turned his glance back to where Amy was standing but she had already disappeared into the busyness of London.

Part 2

That was six months ago. Life had been a whirlwind between finding the latest effort by “B” and today. Today is auction day. Amy spent the last six months carefully deciding what to with her treasure and enjoying the way it looked framed above her mantelpiece. Waiting six months only seemed appropriate too.

Today is January 2nd, 2021 - finally gone was that wretched year. Amy looked to the future and the new year with a long lost sense of hope and life. No more quarantine, no more COVID, no more Timmy. Amy shivered as she considered that horrid man who, so rudely, almost cost her this opportunity to turn her life around.

Amy asked her sister, Susie, to sit in the auction room and watch how her piece did. Amy could not bear the anticipation. She looked at her phone: 02:14 PM. Her piece should have sold already. Auctions always run behind. Good fortune always runs behind.

Susie burst through the double doors leading to the auction room, tears streaming down her eyes. Her excitement squealed from her mouth as she held out a piece of paper to Amy.

“What? How did it do?” Amy asked, in shock.

Susie could not get the words out her mouth and only could continue to thrust the piece of paper toward Amy. “Look! Look! See for yourself!”

Amy eagerly grasped the piece of paper from Susie and unfolded it. Amy’s eyes widened as she shared at the paper. A single figure written on it.

Susie and Amy screamed in astonishment, embraced each other and jumped up and down. It was more than they could have ever hoped for.

“What are you going to do with all this money?” Susie asked happily.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, I had a plan but my mind is blank now. I’ll have to check my little black notebook. I put all my ideas in there.” Amy replied, still in shock. “Travel, a house, my own business. Who knows?! Of course you’ll be coming with me.”

“Of course! I’d love to!” Susie said. “But where?”

“That’s not important right now. Half the fun is in planning it and imagining our trip! Before we get too carried away there is something important I need to take care of. Kaleb! The piece sold.” Amy gestured over to a clean-cut man standing nearby. “I’ve asked the auction company to print two checks. One to each of us.”

“And the Arts Council of England cannot possibly thank you enough, Miss Leppala. A donation of this size will allow us to continue to expand our mission and open additional opportunities to emerging artists in England. You are too generous.” Kaleb kissed Amy’s hand and wiped tears away from his own eyes. “We wish you the best of luck in the future and whatever endeavors you choose to take.”

Amy thanked Kaleb and excused herself to plan her future with Susie. Trent Reznor is not right. No longer does everyday feel the same.